Scarred Skin and Uneven Eyes
by skydivinglibrarian
Summary: Kora's Grace may sharpen her mind and senses, but it doesn't protect her from the intoxicating effect of Leck's voice or the blade of his knife, which have tormented her since childhood. This is the story of a woman Graced with discerning truths, who grew up in the palace of the king of lies.
1. Do You Remember?

_The old woman gazes at her hands, there in the dim light of the dusty bookshop. They are thickly scarred, but not wrinkled. No, she is not so very old. How long ago was it? Twenty years? Thirty?_

_"Mama!" a child calls, winding towards her through the shelves. The little boy's eyes shine with excitement, a dark oceanic blue and a smooth reflective copper._

_Only seven years, then, if the child is so young. Seven years since she left the castle. It seems like so much longer. So many memories…_

_But then, not all of these memories are hers._

* * *

"Do you remember?" Kora whispered. They were hidden among the shelves of the library, knees touching in the dark.

The king was somewhere else tonight, away from his young wife's bedchamber. So Ashen had crept downstairs, fiercely brave or blindly stupid. It was hard to tell. She had knocked on Kora's door and Kora had started awake, hugged the covers to her knees, waited for the old oak door to creak open and admit the king.

But the door didn't open, and Kora wondered if the knock had surfaced from her nightmares, and then she heard the voice.

"Kora?" it had whispered. "Kora, are you there?"

Kora held dead silent, listening. Her Grace-sharpened senses caught the rustle of cotton, and a pair of bare feet fidgeting. It was breathing she wanted to hear, more distinctive than a fingerprint. That would tell her if Ashen was alone or if there was a man behind her with a knife. But the oak was too thick. She couldn't tell for sure.

"Kora?" the voice ventured again. "Are you asleep? Do I have the wrong room?"

She had to say something, or Ashen would leave.

"Who's there?" she asked carefully.

"Ashen," the voice answered quickly. "It's Ashen. Is that you?"

Kora analyzed Ashen's tone. She sounded hopeful, and excited. A little nervous, but not really afraid. Certainly she didn't sound guilty, as she would if she were lying. There was no knife. The king wasn't there.

And now they were in the library, sharing secrets in the dark.

"Do you remember?" Kora asked. "What it was like before you came here?"

"Of course I remember. It was only a year ago. Why, have you forgotten?"

"I never forget. But other people do. A year is a long time around here."

"What does that mean? Kora, so much of what you say doesn't make sense. Why are you so cryptic?"

"My memory is very good," Kora told her, sidestepping the question. "If you tell me your stories, I can remember them for you. Then when you get confused I can help you. I've done it for other people."

"Why would I forget?"

"People do." She couldn't say the king's name. She'd made that mistake before, with other girls. If she told the king's secret, it would rise to Ashen's thoughts as soon as she saw him. And he would ask a question, and the truth would spill from Ashen's mouth, and Kora would never see her again. "Tell me about Lienid. Tell me about being a princess."

So Ashen told stories, her whispered voice painting bright colors in the darkness. Kora listened hard, her brow furrowed, trying to see it all as if she - Manage Storieshad lived through it.

She locked away the memory of that night, shielded it from fog. Long after Ashen had forgotten, she remembered every word.

* * *

"Mama!" called Princess Ashen, leaning out the window. Her long dark hair tumbled forward in the breeze, seven stories above the tiled courtyard. "Mama, the delegation is here!"

Alizarin, the onetime queen of Lienid, smiled up at her daughter. She didn't meet delegations anymore. She had married late in life to a man who needed heirs, and producing two children had sapped what was left of her youth. Once her son was grown her husband had abdicated, hoping to shield his aging wife from the exhaustion of holding court. Alizarin hadn't set foot in the receiving room since, and she had no intention of doing so today.

"Go on now, darling," she called gently. "Go and meet the king of Monsea."

"Oh, mother, won't you come?" Ashen pleaded. She wouldn't admit it, but she was nervous. Aside from her brother, she'd never met a man with a rank higher than hers.

* * *

_The old woman sighs. No, that isn't her. That's Ashen. It's hard to keep them straight these days. The adopted memories bleed through, stronger sometimes than her own._

_It's a new and frightening sensation, distrust in her own memories. It might be an attempt at healing; her memories are painful, after all, and she might be better off without them. Or perhaps all those years of pitting her mind against the king's have taken their toll, and his mist has come, seven years late, to work its silent theft._

* * *

(Please review. I especially want to know your questions and your predictions as I add new chapters.)


	2. Harmonics

_The woman pulls her son into her lap._

_"Back already?" she asks, brushing his hair back. "What about your music lesson?"_

_"Lessons are boring," complains the boy. "I already know how to play."_

_She kisses his forehead, frowning. This is the third time he has come home early. She can't make him go to his lessons, if he chooses not to go. She has no strength to force a child. "Will you practice, then?" she asks. "If you won't take lessons, at least you must practice."_

_"Mm-hm," the boy nods. He settles himself in front of the keyboard and floats his fingers down, slowly, like ten falling feathers. He plays._

_The woman tries to concentrate, but she is lost already, sinking into her memories._

* * *

Narie's hand moved slowly, gently, pulling the brush through her daughter's thick black. Kora squirmed anxiously.

"Are you done yet?" she asked for the fourth time. She tried to catch her father's eye, hoping for some sympathy, but he was fussing with the fireplace and didn't look up.

"Patience," Narie said firmly. "I will tell you when I'm done."

"But Mama, I'm bored,"Kora pleaded. "I want to go play."

"You can wait," said Narie, coaxing a few stubborn strands through the teeth of the brush. "It won't kill you."

A faint knock sounded from the outside door, two rooms away. Doren, Narie's husband, rose to answer it, and his daughter leapt up to follow him.

"You stay here," said Narie, pulling the girl back down. "We don't know who it is."

Doren moved into the next room, closing the door behind him. Kora heard her father unbolt the front door, then speak in a lowered voice. When the visitor replied, the girl's Graced ears picked up the timbre of the voice, and she realized that the man at the door was someone she didn't know.

In this little farming village, two days ride from the nearest town, they never met anyone new. A child couldn't be expected to pass up an opportunity like that.

The little girl slipped through the door into the entrance room, where her father's body was physically blocking the outside door.

"We don't know anything about that," Doren said firmly. "It's very late. You should be on your way."

"Is that so?" asked the mystery man. The girl stood on tiptoe, trying to see his face. Doren heard movement and turned around, panic rising in his throat.

"Kora!" he cried, catching sight of his daughter. "Go back inside!"

But it was too late. Doren had moved from the door when he turned, leaving the traveler an unobstructed line of sight.

That which is seen cannot be unseen.

The man saw Kora's eyes.

* * *

_The sound ripples slowly out like circles growing wider in still water disturbed. It rolls into the corners of the room and keeps moving, sliding through the walls and out onto the street, finding hungry ears and starving hearts. In every house within earshot, conversation stops. Birds fall silent in the trees. Feral dogs stop howling and sit, ears perked up. This music is like no other._

* * *

Ashen curtsied deeply to her brother, as a princess to a king.

"Lord King," she said, bowing her head.

"Lady Princess," he replied. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Ashen didn't turn around; she wasn't supposed to. She watched her brother.

"Lord King," said Ror. "May I present to you Ashen, Royal Princess of Lienid."

Now Ashen turned around.

The ruler of Monsea was an underwhelming sight. He was tall, but rather unattractive. One of his eyes was covered by a black patch, so that he looked, not quite like a pirate, but a bit like a child dressed up as a pirate. Between the patch and the heavy gold jewelry and the ostentatiously flowing scarlet robes he looked, in fact, completely ridiculous. He was some peasant's fantasy of wealth, made reality without the help of a professional.

His uncovered eye was Lienid gray. What color, Ashen wondered, were Monsean eyes?

All these thoughts passed through her head in the space of an instant, before they were fully introduced. As Ashen curtsied, the man spoke.

"I am Leck, King of Monsea," he told her. His voice was deep and rich and smooth. It had harmonics to it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

All Ashen's first impressions melted away. Still bent into her curtsy, she lifted her head and smiled up at him.

"The pleasure is all mine," she replied. And she meant it.

* * *

_The little boy plays, eyes closed, frowning slightly in concentration. His fingers flutter over the keys faster than a darting swallow. Music spills out from his hands and strikes into listening hearts, pricking up tears in unguarded eyes._

* * *

"Go back inside," Doren repeated.

As he spoke, his wife slipped into the entrance-room. "Oh, seas," she whispered, seeing the dark-cloaked traveler framed in the doorway. "Kora, dear, come inside with me."

"No, I think it's best she stays out here," said the visitor, crouching down in front of Kora. "Sweetheart, when did your eyes settle?"

"Eight months," Kora replied. She knew her parents were afraid of this man, but her instincts told her he meant no harm. There was no threat of malice in his posture, and his tone was friendly.

"And how old are you now?" he asked.

"Seven and a quarter," she said proudly.

"Oh my!" he exclaimed. "You're a big girl now, aren't you? What's your name, sweetie?"

"Kora."

"Kora. That's a pretty name. I'm Myron. I'm a Graceling scout for the king. Do you know what that means?"

Kora bit her lip. "You're here to take me away."

"That isn't going to happen," Narie interrupted fiercely. She pulled Kora onto her hip and glared at Myron. "You may leave this place now."

The man met her gaze. "I have no wish to do harm here," he told her calmly. "I do as my king commands, and I believe his laws to be just." It was clear to Kora that the man meant what he said. Something was off about him, but he, at least, believed himself to be completely honest.

"Narie, take her inside," Doren suggested. He placed himself between the scout and his wife, but Myron met Narie's gaze over his shoulder.

"Seven years is a long time to hold onto a Graceling," Myron pointed out. "You must love her very much. I understand that, and respect it."

"Then go," Narie said desperately. "Leave us alone." Myron ignored her.

"This place is isolated, and hard to reach. Last month was the first report we heard of a Graceling girl in this area. That means you have received no royal summons, which means you have defied no command, and as of right now you have broken no laws."

"Then what do you want with us?" Narie demanded.

"This is your royal summons. The king may not want your daughter, when he meets her- it depends on what her Grace is. But the choice is his to make. If I leave here without the girl, I will come back with soldiers. And they will take her, and you, and your husband. Either way, Kora will be fine. She will live a life of safety and comfort in the king's palace. I promise you that," he added, meeting Kora's eyes.

Narie and Doren glanced at their daughter. She nodded, her lower lip wobbling. "He means it," she whispered. "But I don't want to go."

"Then you won't," Doren said flatly.

"She will," Myron said wearily, "And you'll go to prison. Can we discuss this outside? Away from the child? The talk is frightening her."

"No," Narie said, glancing at Doren. "My husband and I will discuss this inside, away from you. We have decisions to make."

"Then leave Kora with me," Myron replied.

"Are you mad?"

"He won't take me," Kora whispered. "He's going to let you choose." She closed her eyes, trying not to cry. She felt unfamiliar hands pluck her from her mother's grip, heard her father's angry snarl as she was carried across the room.

"Talk to your husband," said her captor's gentle voice. "We'll be waiting here."

"Go," Kora said quietly, opening her eyes. "I want to talk to him."

Narie and Doren left the room reluctantly, trusting in their daughter's Grace.

"You're being nice," Kora said, looking up at the king's scout. "Why are you being nice?"

Myron smiled. "I'm a nice man."

"Nice men don't take little girls from their mothers," said the Graceling. She aimed the words like an arrow, and saw them hit home. Myron looked away.

"They do if the king commands it." He met Kora's eyes again. "I have a great deal of faith in King Leck, Kora. You'll understand when you meet him. He has a reason for everything he does, even if he doesn't always explain himself. I've yet to meet a better man, and Monsea's never known a better ruler."

"Ow!" Kora clutched her head, blinking back tears.

"What's wrong?" Myron touched her hair, concerned. "Are you all right?"

Kora rubbed her forehead. She suddenly had an awful headache. She couldn't remember what Myron had just said, or what she had meant to reply. She had had a plan, to convince him of something, but her brain was muddled now.

Voices rustled from the inside room. Kora looked up, concentrating. Her ears were sharper than her parents knew; she could hear them whispering.

"Kora?" Myron repeated. "Are you all right?"

"Sssh!"

"We cannot protect her," Narie was saying. "We have no resources."

"I will not give her up," Doren said angrily.

Their voices lowered again. Narie said something Kora couldn't catch. Then there was silence. Kora growled in frustration, flailing against her captor.

Alarmed, Myron released her. Her Grace must be one of the eerie ones, he realized. Something was happening in her head that no ordinary person could understand. His guilt abated somewhat; these tantrums were probably common, and might grow more forceful over time. A poor rural couple was ill-equipped to manage such a Grace. In delivering Kora to the care of the king, he was doing a good thing.

Narie and Doren entered, their features heavy with sorrow and guilt.

So the decision was made. Kora would be delivered to the king. She couldn't help it anymore; she started to cry. Great wracking sobs that hurt her chest and constricted her lungs. Myron watched helplessly as clutched herself, gasping for breath.

The king will be able to help her,he told himself. Once she meets him, she won't be upset was at this point that Narie and Doren entered.

Seeing Kora's distress, Doren immediately knelt before her, wrapping her in his arms. She clung to his shirt, pressing her face into his chest.

"I don't want to go," she cried. "Please don't make me go."

Genuine as the sobs were, the words were calculated, and not addressed to Doren. She could hear Myron moving around at the edge of her perception, and she knew she was causing him pain. It was a long shot, but unlocking his empathy was her only chance.

It didn't work. The more uncontrollable Kora appeared, the more convinced Myron was that she needed to be brought to the king. It was her parents who were affected by the tantrum; Doren wept openly over his daughter's head, and Narie watched Myron as a wolf watches a deer. The scout began to fear that the woman would kill him if he touched her daughter again.

The silence was long and strained. It was Narie who broke it.

"We will go with you. Kora and I. I will take her to the king, and speak to him on her behalf."

"You may not be allowed to see him—"

"I will go with her. Or do you mean to kill me now." It was more a statement than a question. She trusted in her daughter's judgement; she knew he would attempt no violence. Myron nodded.

* * *

_The melody slows and deepens, pulling down into a mournful, keening sorrow. The air grows heavy, thick and hard to breathe. And then, like the lightest of falling raindrops, another melody slips in around it. Faster, brighter, full of childish delight, the music accelerates. The pressure releases and the room grows lighter._

* * *

Narie lifted her daughter from her husband's arms. As she turned for the door Doren caught her arm and kissed her. She wrapped her free arm around him, and they stood, locked together, for some time.

They pressed against Kora, solid and strong, close enough for her to hear both their heartbeats. She breathed them in, their warmth, the safety of having them wrapped around her. She hid the sensation in her heart, buried it deep where it wouldn't be lost.

She kept that memory forever, but she never felt anything like it again.


	3. Get Out

_With a great reverberating flourish of sound, the song ends. The woman gasps, resurfacing, latching her hand onto a nearby chair. She can't remember where she is, or how she got there._

_There is a child in front of her. She knows that she should know him, but she cannot place his name. A cold draft of fear blows through her as she stares down at his upturned face. Sandy hair, a snub nose, a certain aspect about his features is painfully familiar._

_"No," she whispers._

_"Mama?" the boy ventures nervously._

_"No!" she cries out, lurching away from him. "No, you can't be, you shouldn't be, you have no _right_!"_

_"Mama." The child reaches out a hand, trying to mollify her. She recoils._

_"No," she hisses, "don't you ever say that word. You may not say that word to me! You shouldn't be here. Go! Get out!"_

_"Stop it!" the boy yells, angry now. "Stop shouting, stop it, just be normal!" His fists are clenched and tears are forming in his beautifully uneven eyes._

_"Go!" she repeats, louder now. "Leave me alone, leave me in peace! I'm done with you, I won't go back! Get out of here!"_

_The child turns from her, sobbing, and runs out of the house._


	4. Stronger Than Me

The king smiled at them. He had a silly-looking face, Kora noted. An eyepatch was slung over one of his eyes, crowned by a mane of sandy-brown hair.

"And her Grace is memory?" he asked. "How fascinating."

"We think her senses may also be unusually sharp," Narie added. "Sight, hearing, and the like."

"Fascinating," Leck replied. "Potentially problematic, but I certainly hope not. I have a librarian with a similar Grace." He crouched down in front of Kora, resting his gray eye on her black and blue ones. She had never seen his face up close, and she had to bite back a giggle as she realized that the nation's sovereign had a snub nose.

"Your mother's eyes are green," said Leck conversationally. A stabbing pain pierced Kora's head, and she blinked furiously.

"What?" she asked, confused. She wasn't certain what had just been said.

"What color are you mother's eyes?" the king inquired. Something clouded Kora's thoughts, made her brain move slower than usual. She could see her mother's eyes, she knew what color they were, but she couldn't remember the right word for that color. Embarrassed by the awkward pause, she said the word that slid easiest onto her tongue.

"Green," she told the king. He beamed at her.

"Excellent," he said cheerfully, standing up. Just then there was a knock at the door.

"Lord King," called the knocker from outside, "there is a message for you."

"Excuse me," said Leck, moving toward the door. "This should only take a minute." He swept out of the room.

Kora shook her head, trying to clear her mind. There was something she wasn't noticing, something important. She couldn't think straight.

_Brown_, she remembered suddenly. Her mother's eyes were brown. Kora had never forgotten a word before.

"Mama," she said, tugging on Narie's sleeve, "something's wrong. What's happening?"

Narie blinked in astonishment. She couldn't remember Kora ever asking her what was happening. Kora was never confused.

"Nothing's wrong, Kora," Narie assured her daughter. "The king wants you to visit him for a while."

"How long?"

"He didn't say." Narie frowned. Why hadn't she asked?

"Why does he want me?"

"You're a Graceling, dear. Gracelings have to live with the king."

"But not if he doesn't want them. My Grace is boring, it's not fighting or cooking or something for kings. Why does he _want_me?"

"I can't imagine," Narie teased. "Maybe because you're a brilliant, charming, beautiful girl. Don't worry, darling.."

A memory came to Kora, slicing through the fog: Leck's eyes lingering on her, hungry, greedy.

"He wants me 'cause I'm pretty," Kora told her mother.

"Maybe that's what it is," Narie agreed with a smile, mistaking Kora's fear for vanity.

"Mama, I don't want to go with him." Finally, Narie heard the panic in her daughter's voice, and the fog in her own mind began to clear. She knelt before her daughter, bringing her deep brown eyes level with Kora's uneven ones, taking Kora's tiny hands in hers. Although the little girl's black eye was as opaque as ever, her blue eye shone with frightened tears.

"You have to, darling," Narie said. "He's the king. But please, can you tell me what you're afraid of?" For Narie felt it too, humming in the air. Something was not right here, something besides a little girl afraid of leaving home.

"He carries a knife, Mama," Kora said. "Why would a king need a knife? He has guards and things. And everyone loves King Leck. Who would try to hurt him?" Narie didn't remember seeing a knife, but she didn't doubt Kora's powers of observation.

"I don't know, honey. Maybe he doesn't like having guards around all the time. Maybe it's for decoration." Kora shuddered, remembering the silvery handle protruding from its plain leather sheath. She was young, and not yet quite in command of her Grace. She didn't always know how she knew things. But she was sure that that knife got a lot of use.

"He's not a good man, Mama," she whispered. "He is not a righteous king."

"Kora! That's very close to treason. King Leck is a kind man who has done a world of good for Monsea." Kora knew nothing about politics, had no idea what Leck had done or not done for Monsea. But she remembered that face, that glittering gray eye, the fingers twitching toward her, the knife at his belt. She knew enough to be afraid of him.

"I don't want to go with him," she repeated. Narie didn't understand what the problem was, but she was used to Kora seeing truths she couldn't comprehend. Kora was smarter than her, Narie knew, maybe smarter than anyone, but she was still a child, and she was frightened and lost and she needed someone to take care of her.

"All right, Kora, you don't have to go. You won't. You'll come home with me, okay?"

Kora sobbed in relief and wrapped her arms around her mother, squeezing tight as if someone was trying to pull her away. Narie stroked the little girl's hair, making soothing noises.

"But we do have to wait for him to come back, so we can explain to him that we're not staying," Narie pointed out. Kora's head shot up, terrified eyes raised to meet her mother's.

"No, please, Mama, we can't see him. We can't talk to him. We have to go home now, right away. It's not safe here."

"Kora," Narie said firmly, "We told the king you would stay with him. If you've changed your mind, I'll support you, but we have to tell him."

Kora knew that voice. It was the tone Narie used when she thought she was teaching Kora an important lesson in manners. Narie would not back down now.

"Okay, Mama. But promise you won't let him take me."

"Kora, King Leck is not going to 'take' you." It was true that Gracelings legally belonged to the king. But Leck had been so warm, so friendly when he had spoken to them. Narie was sure he would understand.

"Promise!" Kora insisted, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She squeezed Narie's fingers so hard that her knuckles turned white. "You have to promise that you'll hold onto me."

"Oh, Kora," Narie said, "Is that what you're worried about? That I'm letting go of you? Kora, you know that I love you more than—"

"No," Kora said impatiently. "I'm worried that the king will tell us that I should go with him, and we'll both believe him like we did before, and my mind will get cloudy and I'll be stupid like I was before, and you'll have to take care of me, because I'm not strong enough. I'm not, Mama, I'm not strong enough, and I'm not smart enough."

"Kora, you're the smartest girl I know."

"Most of the time," Kora agreed. "But when King Leck talked I got confused and stupid and I need you to help me. When we go tell him that I'm not going with him, I need you to hold onto me and not let go no matter what, because he _will_try to take me. I know it." Narie looked at her daughter. So small, so young, telling her that King Leck, the man famous for being wise and kind to animals, was some kind of evil child-snatcher.

But she trusted Kora. Kora was almost never wrong about truths. Some things, like manners, she didn't have the slightest grasp of, but she knew secrets and dangers better than anyone.

"Okay, Kora," Narie told her. "Here's what we'll do. You put your hand in mine, and we'll hold on tight to each other while we're talking. And if anything feels wrong to you, if you get scared, you squeeze my hand to remind me that I promised not to let go of you. And I do promise, Kora. Fifteen minutes from now, I'll take you home. You'll see. You don't have to be afraid. Okay?"

Kora nodded. Narie let go of her and stood, rubbing her back where it ached from kneeling for so long. One more reminder that she was no longer young. She took her daughter's hand and smiled down at her, and there was so much laughter in her chocolate brown eyes that Kora found herself smiling too. Leck might be stronger than her, but no one was stronger than Narie. As long as Narie held her hand, she was safe.

But it wasn't true, because now Narie was on the floor in Leck's office, blood pooling around the knife in her stomach.

Kora's mind had clouded as soon as the king spoke, just as she knew it would. And she had believed, truly believed, that she wanted to live with him. And everything had been happy and perfect, except that she wasn't noticing things like she usually did, little patterns in the way people breathed or walked, currents of air in the room, stains on the carpet that told a story. Her mind had lost its sharpness. And she had gotten scared, and squeezed Narie's hand.

She didn't know what had happened after that. But she believed that Leck had not hurt her mother. He wouldn't do such a thing. So who had? Why couldn't she think straight? She clenched her fist, squeezing the hand that was no longer in hers, telling her mother that she was scared, that something wasn't right.

Kora dropped to her mother's side and shook her. Narie gasped in pain, and Kora let go.

"Mama, Mama, please, we have to get out of here," Kora pleaded. "We have to leave, now. It's not safe here. Mama, can you hear me?"

But if Narie could hear, she didn't answer. Kora ignored the knife in her stomach and focused on her warm brown eyes. Even now, they calmed and centered her, helped her understand what had happened.

"Don't be ridiculous," Leck had told them. "Of course Kora wants to come with me." And Kora had agreed, but she had felt a wrongness that she couldn't place, and she had squeezed Narie's hand. And Narie had looked at her frightened daughter and understanding had come to her in a great wave, and she had stood fast and said,

"She doesn't want to go with you. I don't know what you're doing to me, but I will make this choice, not you." And Leck had laughed, and reached for Kora with a smile, but Narie had held on tight to Kora's hand and stood between her and the king. "You will not touch my daughter. I will not allow it." And Leck had laughed again, as if this was a marvelous game they were playing, and Kora had screamed because she knew what was coming, and tried to pull her mother back, but Leck was faster then her. And that silver-handled knife had come out of its sheath and found a home in Narie's stomach.

Kora sobbed in fury and yanked out the knife. Her mind was sharp again, and she knew that Narie's wound was fatal, that pulling out the blade could not help. But she would not let Narie sped her last moments with something of Leck's inside her.

I will have to be strong now, Kora thought. I will have to be stronger even than the king, because Mama won't be there to be strong for me.

"Mama," Kora whispered, tears pooling in her eyes, "I love you. I won't forget you. No matter what he does to me, no matter what he says, I'll remember." And then her strength crumbled and poured out of her, soaking her cheeks. "Mama, please, stop it. Get up. Help me. I need you. I can't do this alone. Please, Mama, please!"

Narie's eyes were empty now. Her heart was beating, Kora could tell from the blood that still spilled from her stomach. But her light, her life, her soul had gone. Kora was alone.

The Graceling girl stood slowly and turned to face her king.

"You won't take me," she told him, her knuckles whitening around the bloody knife.

"Kora, darling, I know how upset you must be. But it wasn't your fault. You didn't mean to hurt her, I know that. You were just holding the knife, and Narie walked into you. It was an accident. No one will blame you." Kora felt her thoughts slow down and thicken. She clapped her hands to her ears.

"You killed her, I saw you," she said, but the words sounded hollow and empty. Oh, gods, had she killed her mother? What kind of monster was she?

"Kora, you're holding the knife in your hand," Leck said gently. "You know what happened."

Yes, she knew what happened. What had happened? She found her last clear memory, her hand pressing into Narie's, asking for help. Everything around it blurred, but she remembered her mother's hand in hers, warm and strong. She remembered her fear as she squeezed, and the surge of relief as her mother squeezed back, promising to protect her. Had she been holding the knife then?

No, the knife had been in Leck's belt. Leck had killed Narie, because she had stood between him and his prize.

"You killed her," Kora spat at him. "She wouldn't do what you wanted, so you killed her. You're a monster." She raised her knife.

"Darling," Leck said, "you're holding that knife wrong." And then he lunged at her, and with her senses dulled by his words she didn't know what was happening until the knife was across the room and the king had her in an iron grip. His cruel gray eye cut into her. "Kora, you've had a shock. You just lost your mother. People are always stronger after something like that. I know you hate me right now. I know you don't believe me. But I have the rest of your life to change your mind, my beautiful Graceling girl, and I promise you this: you will believe. You will believe everything I tell you."

And then he released her and laughed, joy in his conquest spilling out of him with the sound, touching everything in the room, twisting into Kora until she could hardly breathe.


	5. Unrelenting

_ When, in all of this, did she give birth to a boy? She cannot remember. She refuses to remember. _

_ What a luxury, to be allowed to forget. _

_ The woman eases into a chair. Her skin is a patchwork thing that threatens to tear when she moves. Some places the ache carves straight through muscle and into the bone. She was beautiful once, but not anymore._

_ The weight of years presses down on her. Outside, the golden evening light is giving way to dusk. _

* * *

Fog swamped this memory, but some things shone through. The gleam of lamplight reflected off a knife. A pair of uneven eyes, crystal blue and burnished black, wide with fear and desperation. A voice, pleading with him.

"Stop, please. You're hurting me."

"I'm not hurting you," Thiel told her, confused that she didn't seem to understand. "I'm trying to help you.

"You want to help me. You're a good man, I know it. Thiel, that's your name, that's what he called you, right? Thiel, you're a healer, I've seen it. This isn't healing. No, stop. Stop!" And then she was screaming, as if she truly was in pain, and Thiel stepped back, bewildered. He blinked at the sight of the knife in his hand. The blood on the knife. The girl was weeping now, and with a wave of nausea Thiel realized what he had done.

"I'm so sorry," he said, dropping the knife and using his sleeve to blot the bleeding. The cut would need stitches; it was long and deep. "I don't know what came over me. Please, I beg you, forgive me."

The girl shook her head, tears welling in her bright blue eye. It was odd, Thiel thought, that even when she was crying the black eye betrayed no emotion. It must be a trick of the light.

"You need stitches," he murmured anxiously. "I have a kit in the next room."

"You can't leave your post," she said irritably. "You'll stitch the cut when Leck wants you to, and not before."

"I can't just let it bleed."

"You must." He couldn't. He was a healer, and she was in pain. He shook his head and turned to the door.

"Thiel," Kora out, her voice suddenly strong. "By the debt of blood you owe me, I command you to say where you are."

He had to stop then.

"Kora, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Please, forgive me."

"You remember my name." She sounded surprised, and then exhausted. "I don't understand."

"You've been here before," he murmured, confused. She had been smaller then...

"You remember," she whispered. She looked as if this news might break her. "How could you remember me, and still not stop when I asked?"

"I'm so sorry."

"I will never understand." She dropped her head, collapsing into her chains. "I will never understand how you can all be so weak."

The silence stretched between them, horribly long. Blood was pouring out of her arm. Her black eye looked like a stone to Thiel, ancient and unyielding.

"I was a little girl," she whispered. "I was a little girl, and you took a knife to me." The room was spinning, and he was remembering, and he didn't want to.

"Yes." He swallowed the word, a failed confession.

Kora hissed with pain, and shifted position.

"I want you to remember something," she told him grimly. "Even if you forget everything else."

"How can I?"

"Try." The word grated in her throat, harsh and unrelenting.

"I will," he promised.

"Remember that you are not forgiven."

* * *

_The woman lifts her scarred hands from her lap and gazes at them as if they are new to her. Frowning, she pulls herself out of the chair and crosses to the back of the room, where the day's last shafts of dusty light fall on a small chipped mirror._

_ Two sky-blue eyes peer back at her. She is no Graceling girl. _

_ Neither is she a torturer. Whose memories are these? Why do they grant her no respite?_


	6. Wild Animal

"No, they don't! They don't care about me, they're not here to help me, they're going to hurt me! They're going to do what they did to Selena!"

The other Graceling girls had drifted over to watch the tantrum. Kora was crouched like a cornered animal in the center of the nursery, fists balled up against her ears, hair tangled in her face. Mistress Marla stood several feet away, clearly at her wit's end. She was already nursing the first injury of the battle, a nasty bite mark that looked more like the work of a pitbull than a child. Kora had sunk her teeth in Marla's flesh deep enough to draw blood, forcing the woman to yank her arm away and retreat to her current position.

"Control yourself, child," Marla snapped, not moving forward.

"Shut up!" Kora screeched. "You don't remember, none of you remember _anything! _You're all stupid, you all _saw _it, you don't know anything about anything! You all _saw _what they did to Selena!"

Selena, the girl in question, had moved to the front of the crowd.

"Kora, nobody hurt me," she said softly. She took a tentative step toward the younger girl. She crouched down in front of Kora.

"Look at me," she coaxed. "Just look up and talk to me, okay?"

Kora raised her head reluctantly to meet Selena's two-colored gaze.

"Nobody hurt me, Kora," Selena promised. "Look." She held out her unblemished arms. Kora stamped her foot.

"You got better," she insisted irritably. "Your cuts went away, that's what you do, that's what your Grace is."

"_Please_, Kora, _listen _to me. Nobody ever cut me. There is nobody trying to hurt us."

Kora _screamed, _throwing back her head and clutching her temples. Her mouth flung open and her eyes clenched shut and she howled like she was in terrible pain. Serena darted back to join the crowd of watching Graceling girls and Mistress Marla put her body between Kora and the group, protecting her sane charges from the wild one.

Kora's head throbbed like it was on fire. Reality was dissolving around her, she was lost in a web of untruths. She leaned down, pressed her forehead to the cool wooden floor.

The floor. You could depend on a floor. Floors were solid, they had nothing to do with words. A floor would tell you the truth.

This floor was telling her…

footsteps whispered through the wood…

Someone was coming.

Kora picked up her head and looked up at Marla. The woman's hands were on her hips, her forehead creased into an anxious frown. The clouds lifted for a moment, but it was no light of sudden understanding, only a hopeful glance at the door, where reinforcements were bound to arrive soon.

Slowly, Kora stood. Marla watched her warily, but made not move to touch her.

Kora closed her eyes and listened. The sound of feet still pounded faintly through the floorboards. How much time did she have?

Not enough.

Kora ran.


	7. Run

Kora ran. Bare feet pressing into rich royal carpets, tangled black hair flying behind her, she ran on too-short too-slow legs. She ran down stairs, around corners, through hallways, breath labored and heartbeat frantic. She ran, too terrified to stop, until someone scooped her into the air.

She shrieked and flailed, but her captor held on.

"Hey," the woman said firmly, holding Kora to her hip. Kora saw that while the arm that held her was iron-strong, the woman's other arm hung dead at her side. "Calm down. Where's your mother?"

Kora fell silent. She didn't know where her mother was. Her last image of Narie was of a bleeding corpse, eyes staring open and empty. But no one had told her what was done with the body. Buried or burned, scattered to the wind, Kora didn't know.

"Hey," the woman said again, more gently this time. "What's wrong? You all right?"

"Anna!" said a sharp voice from the doorway. A middle-aged woman was standing there in a stained apron, one hand on her hip. "What are you doing? Whose child is that?"

"Not mine," Anna protested, shifting Kora to rest more comfortably on her hip. "She ran in here."

"Well, take her out," the apron-woman commanded. "I can't have children in my kitchen. Bring her back to the nurseries. If she's lost that's where any sensible woman would look."

"Where are the—" Anna started to ask, but the apron-woman was already gone. Anna took a good look at Kora. "Hang on," she said, startled, "you're a Graceling."

Kora wriggled out of Anna's grip, sliding down to the floor. But before she could flee, Anna had her by the arm.

"Slow down," the woman ordered. "What are you running from?"

"Let me go!" Kora yelled, yanking at her arm. "You don't understand, you can't, you're too _stupid!_ I need to go, I need to hide, let _go _of me!"

"What are you running from?" Anna repeated levelly.

"They're going to hurt me," Kora said, tears leaking down her cheeks. "They're going to hurt me and if you don't let me go they'll find me, and it will be your fault."

Anna weighed this information, biting her lower lip. Sharply, she nodded, pulled Kora onto her hip again and walked out of the kitchen, her long strides almost breaking into a run.

"You believe me?" Kora asked, confused, still half-crying.

"What are you?" Anna demanded, ignoring Kora's question. "Six years old?"

"Eight and a half," said the child indignantly. She was taking careful note of Anna's path through the corridors, trying to guess where she was being taken. Away from the kitchens, clearly, but they were still in the servants' region of the castle.

"Eight and a half! You're a tiny little thing." Kora bit back a retort; Anna looked to be about sixteen, barely a grownup herself.

Anna stopped suddenly, glanced behind her.

"No one's coming," Kora assured her. Anna raised an eyebrow, amused by the child's absolute confidence.

"Hold still," she ordered, placing Kora on her feet so that she could knock on the door with her one working arm. Kora decided not to flee. Anna clearly wanted to help her.

A young woman opened the door, looking displeased.

"It's my off day—" the woman started to say crossly, then stopped as Anna pushed past her into the spartan bedroom, yanking Kora along with her.

"Anna, what in the hills!" the woman exclaimed, quickly shutting the door. "Did anyone see you come?"

"Nobody," Kora answered helpfully. The woman ignored her.

"Anna—"

"We need to get her out of the palace. The Songbird is after her."

"After her? She's a Graceling! They've already _got _her!"

"Tbey're going to do something—I don't know—we can both guess—she needs—we have to get her out of here." Anna sounded frantic, her sentence dissolving into incoherence. The other woman crossed her arms.

"We cannot smuggle a Graceling out of the palace," the woman hissed. "We have no structure set up for that."

"Then what are we here for?" Anna demanded. "She needs—"

"We are here for the _country_. There are a dozen Gracelings in the Songbird's nursery, do you mean to save them all?" Kora understood suddenly that "Songbird" was code for the king.

"She ran," Anna answered, tears beading in her eyes. "She ran into _my _kitchen and found _me. _She knows what's going to happen, and she ran from it. What else could I do but help her?"

Why Songbird, Kora wondered, her thoughts moving fast. Because his power lay in his voice? That- and the fact that they spoke in code- suggested that these people knew what was happening in Monsea, and were working against it. Surely they would have to help her.

"Anna, you did nothing wrong," the woman told Ana gently. "But now we have no choice but to undo it. You can't play around with children. You have to have a plan, a route to safety, and we have none."

"We can take her to Estill," Anna insisted. "We've done it before—"

"For adults. People who could make the journey, people who had already made it to a safehouse. This is a child, with no one to travel with her, and the Songbird's guards already ripping up the palace to find her. How would you get her through the castle gates, let alone the city? With nowhere to go?"

"You could tell me where—"

"I will not. I will not reveal a safehouse so that you can lead the Songbird's guards straight there. I have sworn to guard those secrets, and this mission has too small a chance of success."

"If we leave her here," said Anna coldly, "she will be killed."

"No," the woman said quietly. "She will be harmed. And we will let it happen."

Anna closed her eyes. Fear trickled into Kora's chest, cold and sharp.

"We have to make hard choices," the woman told Anna. The room was quiet and solemn, not frantic anymore. These people were not going to help her.

And Kora knew their secret. Kora had lived under Leck for a year now, and she knew that the more secrets you gathered, the more dangerous you were. And the more dangerous you were, the less safe you became.

The unnamed woman had her back to Kora. The door was closed, but unlocked. The moment was now, or not at all.

Kora ran.


	8. Caught

Kora ran, but they caught her. They took her through the secret path, down to the hospital. She screamed when she saw, and thrashed against the guard that held her, until the king himself knelt down before her, and put his hands on her cheeks, and spoke, his voice deep and beautiful.

But she never stopped seeing. She could close her eyes and listen to the king's velvet voice, she could let the throbbing fill her skull and drown out all her thoughts, she could let Leck reduce her to helpless incoherence. But her eyesight never lied to her, and her memory never altered. The vision of Leck's hospital was burned into her. She would see it in her dreams for years to come.

And in those first few years, with that vision in front of her, she kept trying to run away. But she was small, and they were big, and they caught her every time. Eventually Kora stopped running.

* * *

A cat leapt onto the wide wooden table in the alcove. The purple- and green- eyed man gathered the creature into his arms, gently. The man was tall and stiff, perhaps sixty years old.

Kora registered all of this dully, missing details. Her head was full of the king's voice.

"I want you to train her," Leck was saying smoothly. "I want to see how far her Grace can go. She's not being challenged by the nursery tutors, are you, Kora, love?"

Kora heard her name. It took her a moment to understand that she was expected to respond.

"No, Lord King" she agreed. She would agree to anything.

The cat-holding Graceling man looked at her critically, and she saw something intelligent in his eyes. She straightened up a little, interested.

"I don't do children," the cat-holding man told the king. He was objecting, Kora realized. He was arguing with Leck. Something flickered inside her, and she lowered her eyes to keep Leck from noticing.

"She's not a child, Death," Leck told the man. Death. That was his name. "She's twelve years old. She'll be an apprentice."

Death glanced up and down Kora's skinny frame. "She looks like a child to me, Lord King." There was something dark in his voice as he said the world "child" to Leck. Was it anger? Would he dare?

Kora ground her teeth in frustration. If the king would leave, she could know everything about this man. A few roughly worded questions would give her enough furtive blinks and nervous tics to write his biography. But Leck was speaking, and she couldn't think, couldn't pick up even the information right in front of her.

"Kora, love," Leck said, addressing her directly, "would you go and sit at one of the tables by the door?"

"Yes, Lord King," Kora answered politely, grateful to be offered a place away from Leck's immediate vicinity. The idea was, of course, to put her out of earshot. But Leck still had no idea how well she could hear.

"Do you know why I keep you alive?" Leck asked his librarian as Kora sat down. She glanced over, shocked at this frankness, then returned her gaze to the woodgrain in front of her.

"Because you need ready access to the vast amounts of information that exist only inside my head," the librarian replied tartly. "Are you threatening my life over this young woman, Lord King? If so, I'll take her on, I'm not a fool."

Kora's eyes widened. The cat leapt out of Death's arms, and Kora heard its soft paws hit the ground and race from the room.

"You're absolutely correct," the king's voice said. Kora couldn't see his face where she was sitting, and she could never read anything from his voice. She didn't know if he was smiling or threatening, if his hand was resting on the table or twitching toward his knife. "I do need you. But I also enjoy you, Death, and I believe you realize it. I suspect that you choose to be sarcastic and derogatory precisely when you believe it will not incense me. And you obey silently when you fear to anger me. Why is that, Death? How is it that you can tell when I am in a generous mood?"

Death did not respond. Kora heard only his breathing, and she could tell more from that than from all of Leck's speech. Death was scared.

Was the king's knife out? Was the old man afraid for his skin, or only for his secrets? She would have to look, in a moment. She couldn't sit here not knowing.

"I think your Grace protects you more than you let on," Leck continued. "I think that there are limits to how much I can make you believe. I think that if I told you the sky was green, you would carry on knowing it was blue."

Death's breathing had calmed. Kora risked looking up. The knife was in its sheath, and the king's hands were empty. Leck was staring hard at his servant, but he didn't look angry, just interested.

"Maybe," the librarian said softly. There was a long pause.

"That's fine," said the king. "It's what makes you so valuable. And it makes you interesting." He paused, and then said, "Kora is also interesting."

Kora lowered her head quickly, directing her gaze back to the table.

"Kora has a complicated Grace," Leck's voice continued. "I would like to understand it better. I particularly would like to understand how her Grace interacts with mine, and how it compares to yours. I cannot find these things out while she is trapped in the Graceling nursery school with that stupid ugly woman who can't string three words together once I've started talking. I speak with this kind of frankness to you, Death, because I believe you know exactly who and what I am. Am I mistaken?"

Death hesitated. "You are mistaken, Lord King," he said at last.

"You're lying," Leck said flatly.

"Begging your pardon, Lord King, but I am not lying to you. I am merely being precise. I know you are Graced, Lord King, and I believe I understand more than most about how your Grace affects the people around you, but your abilities are of precisely such a nature that I cannot possibly claim to know 'exactly who and what you are.'" The librarian was speaking fast, just barely holding onto his dignity, obviously anxious. "I felt that it was necessary to clarify that point, as I would hate for you to overestimate my capacity for perception."

"I'm sure you would," the king replied. "I would hate for you to underestimate Kora's. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Lord King," Death replied. Kora glanced up again and saw that the Graceling man's head was bowed. She couldn't see his face. Neither, she realized, could Leck.

"Excellent. A room will be made up for her adjoining the library. You will teach her library things. Catalogues and such. If she shows any particular interests, you will let me know promptly."

So this man was to be her watcher. Kora tapped her fingers lightly on the table, thinking. She could work with that.

"I will come and visit her soon, and we shall see how she has progressed."

"Yes, Lord King."

"Kora," Leck called. She rose quickly and crossed the room to join the two men. She said nothing, and the librarian offered no greeting. That was fine. They would talk when Leck was gone.

"I have very high expectations for the two of you," the king told them, smiling. And then he left, the doors swinging shut behind him.

* * *

Knives were forbidden.

Kora had looked for one anyway, of course. Kora's days were filled with forbidden things. Forbidden things kept her alive.

But she hadn't taken a knife. She could find one easily, there were plenty in the kitchens, but she could only get into the kitchens with Anna's help. Leck counted the knives obsessively, and if she took a knife under Anna's watch the secret about Anna would worm its way out, so she had chosen not to do it. It hurt her, to sit by Anna while she kneaded bread, and look at all those blades, and never take one. But it wasn't worth the risk.

Kora couldn't find any other knives. But she had found a broken window once, near the guards' quarters, full of jagged edges. The cracks in the glass had run deep, all the way to the frame, and it had been easy to break off a large sharp piece. Kora had held it up and watched the sunlight shine through it. She liked the feeling of it in her hand. It was hard, and slippery, and surprisingly cold.

Kora didn't have a knife, but she had this piece of glass. She would bring it from its hiding place, and feel it, hold it up in front of the lamplight. It was still cold, and sharp against her skin.

She couldn't find any way to hold it firmly enough to use it without squeezing too hard and cutting her hand. That was all right, she decided eventually. She could cut her hand. She could live with a cut-up hand, she lived with worse.

So she hid the glass away, where she hoped she would be able to reach it.

And when Leck visited her, and pressed himself into her, she stretched out her arm toward the place where the shard of glass was hidden. The velvet voice was in her ear, her head hurt, her body hurt, but she thought of the sunlight shining through her piece of glass and she felt her mind clear. She stretched out her arm, stretched out her fingers. Her heartbeat raced. Leck would see her, she was sure, he would see her stretching out her arm and he would follow her fingers and reach under, where the glass was hidden, and he would find it and touch it with his hands and she would be helpless.

But Leck didn't notice her arm, he didn't follow her fingers, didn't find the glass, didn't grab her elbow and snap it in two. Kora found her hiding place. It was close enough, she could reach it, she could feel the sharpness of the edge against her fingertips.

Now. She could grab her piece of glass right now, and press it into Leck's gray eye. Her hand would slice open and his eye would break and her blood and his would pour onto the blankets, and he would be dying, her fingers shoved inside his head and he would be dying all around her.

Leck pressed down, hard. Kora jerked. The sharp edge cut her finger.

Kora drew her hand away.


	9. Revelation

_Night has fallen now, and the woman understands what she has done. She has hurt the child, again. Her wrongs against this boy are countless. She will have to go after him._

_But not just yet. She will wait a moment, and compose herself. The boy will surely have run to Flaxan's, and when she goes to bring him home she must be calm and rational. She will not allow Flaxan to see her trembling hands._

_She will wait a moment. There's no need to hurry. It is no dangerous thing for a child to play after dark, not in Lienid's mild winters, when light fades long before the children sleep and the streets are safe from nightmares._

* * *

The first thing she saw when she entered the room was the tapestry. A pack of silver wolves tearing into a bloodied carcass.

So. This was to be her home.

Kora looked around the bedroom. Aside from the vicious, gaudy hanging on one wall, it was austere but comfortable. There was a tiny bathing room attached to it, and in here, only two pieces of furniture, a wooden trunk to store her possessions and an unnecessarily wide bed. The bed, she realized, was intended for two people. Her throat tightened.

The rooms were inside the library; the only visible entrance was a plain door hidden among the bookshelves, appearing to all the world as though it led to a closet. The door was thick, solid oak. Kora drew in a sharp breath as she realized that it was fitted from the inside with a steel bolt. She could lock herself into her room if she wanted too. Leck was offering her privacy.

Or so he wanted her to believe. He didn't understand her yet, he always underestimated her. He wouldn't have expected her to run over every inch of the wall with her fingers until she found the crack under the hanging, the secret hatch that looked like any other stretch of wall. She couldn't pry it open, it must be only accessible from the opposite side, but she knew what it was, knew that it opened into the winding web of dark passages that connected the king to his favorite haunts.

Kora shivered involuntarily. Was she to be one of Leck's favorite haunts now? Yes, as she looked at the walls and furniture of this room, she understood how important she was to the king. Her Grace picked up on details: everything here was new, the wooden floor unscratched, the plaster walls unstained. The hidden door was the work of a craftsman, the tapestry that of an artist. Great care had been paid to constructing this space for her.

To what end? Kora loved to read, and this room was inside of a library. There was even a lock on the door. If she hadn't found the secret entrance, hadn't uncovered the lie, how would she have reacted to that lock? She would have wept with relief. To feel safe, oh, how precious a thing. But why would Leck want her to feel safe? He had built himself unfettered access to the place where she slept, that she understood, but why would he care how she felt?

She couldn't stop staring at the tapestry. The carnage was breathtaking, all those different shades of scarlet against a silvered snowy field. As she watched the colored threads glimmer in the light, something began to make sense to her, something about the king that she hadn't quite understood before.

"This is beautiful to you." The words left her body in a whisper. This weaving was truly a masterpiece, because though Kora knew what it felt like to bleed and should have turned away, her hand lifted to touch the shimmering cloth, lingering on a crimson flash of blood. Mesmerized.

This was destruction at its most lovely. It was a message to her from the king, he had chosen this hanging for her. Not merely as a threat, but a sort of violent poetry. He was showing her what he loved.

Such softness, from him, made her feel slightly ill, but it was a revelation. She had been thinking of the king like a blizzard or an earthquake, some lethal force of nature. But he was a person, and Kora was well equipped to understand people. Normally, she read voices and faces, but Leck's voice was toxic and would give her no clues. But if she paid close attention to the things that he did, and remembered to always think of him as human, she could learn to predict him. And if she ever hoped to find any measure of protection, she would have to learn to manipulate him.


End file.
